


Kiss from a Rose

by jewboykahl



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Assumed Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Karaoke, M/M, One Shot, Roommates, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: Stan and Kenny are mistaken for a gay couple after performing a romantic duet at karaoke night, making them realize they probably should be a couple.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24
Collections: JBK and Lotus’s Assumed Dating Prompts





	Kiss from a Rose

**Author's Note:**

> based off of this prompt assumed dating prompt!!: 
> 
> our karaoke song is a romantic duet and a couple tells us that they hope to be as in love as we are one day

The bar is pretty dead tonight, which Stan is grateful for. He urged his roommate to come out to the generally unpopular dive bar for the exact purpose of having a drink in peace after a long and irritating day at work. The only downfall of the eclectic, cheap and somehow charming establishment was forgetting that Wednesdays nights are karaoke nights in a desperate-yet-half-assed attempt to draw in more clientele. 

Stan starts his second beer as Kenny sips his $5 frozen margarita that is almost entirely tequila. He watches intently as two women fall against one another laughing as they butcher George Michael’s masterpiece. He scrunches his nose after a long sip of the strong beverage, “Is Careless Whisper even a duet?”

“It is not.” Stan replies with a listless sigh as he drains another sip from the condensation-dripping bottle. 

Kenny snorts as he turns toward his friend. The perpetual bags beneath Stan’s deep, blue eyes are particularly dark today. He frowns, “So, what’s goin’ on today?” 

Stan huffs and shakes his head, “Nothing, really. Just another shitty day.” 

“Tell me about it,” Kenny continues to encourage with a comforting hand placed on Stan’s shoulder. “I’m sworn to carry your burdens.” 

Cracking a smile at the reference, Stan sighs again, “I don’t know, man, I’m just tired of this job. Everyone was getting on my entire last nerve today and I just…” He groans, dropping his head into his folder arms on the bar. 

Kenny frowns and pats his shoulder before taking his hand away. He casts his gaze back to the ladies finishing up their rendition of the homosexual love ballad. A group of their friends are cheering them on joyously. A fantastic idea strikes Kenny. 

“Dude, let’s go do a song together!” 

Stan raises his head to send him glare straight from Hell. “Absolutely not.” 

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be a killjoy!” Kenny urges, replacing his hand on the other man’s back. 

“I chose this bar specifically to be a killjoy and not be judged for it.” Stan reminds him, returning to an upright position. 

Kenny says, “That may be your natural role but you can fight it; you’ve done it before, I believe in ya!” 

Stan again rejects the idea with a faint smile and a shake of the head. The truth is, Kenny and Stan have performed some pretty epic karaoke duets in the past. All were done so completely trashed, and there is even video evidence of them performing “Summer Nights” from _Grease_ thanks to their friend, Kyle, generously purchasing a CD copy for all their friends. He hates himself for smiling fondly at the memories. 

He turns his head to find Kenny pouting a lip at him and purposely enlarging those already big, brown eyes. He hates himself _more_ for how much of an effect this has on him. He sighs in defeat, “Talk to Four Beer Stan about doing a song.” 

“Now we’re talkin’!” Kenny exclaims triumphantly, drumming both hands on the sticky, wooden surface beneath them before addressing the bartender, “Excuse me, good sir, two more Michelob Ultras from my friend here!” 

“Aye, aye,” The man agrees in a deadpan. 

Stan pins him with another look somewhere between exasperation and admiration. The bartender places two more bottles of beer before them, Kenny sends the man a wink before pushing them into Stan’s reach. “You know this place is cash only, right?” 

“Way ahead of ya,” Kenny proclaims, patting the wad of cash in his jeans pocket. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Stan states before lifting his half-finished second to his lips and finishing it off. 

Kenny throws both arms in the air, giving an overly-enthusiastic “Woohoo!” 

Before they both know it, Stan’s on his fifth beer and Kenny is on his third different flavor of margaritas. They are relaying memories from past karaoke endeavors and cackling to each other when Stan decides he is apparently drunk enough to add another song to their repertoire. 

They interlock arms for support and abandon their stools, heading over to the unoccupied karaoke machine. Kenny’s giddy guffaws are muffled by his lips wrapped around the straw of his drink as Stan clicks through song options. Each one seems absolutely _hilarious_ to both of them. 

“Dude, _yes_!” Kenny exclaims when a selection is finally made. “Just like Jeff and the dean!” 

“Obviously!” Stan laughs, the two of them forever referencing shows they’ve watched together. He pauses, “Oh, man, you gotta put that down,” 

“Oh, right, right, right,” Kenny rushes out his reply, scanning for a place to put his large, strawberry flavored beverage. He stumbles to a high-top neighboring the small stage, addressing the couple of young females chatting among themselves, “Can ya watch this for me? Thanks!” 

They exchange bemused expressions as be scutters back up to the stage to join his cackling singing partner. A few seconds later the soft piano and flute sounds from the speakers. The pair squints at the screen, and Kenny spouts, “Oh, shit we forgot about the _ba de ya’s_!” 

“ _Ba da da, ba ba ba, ba da da da,_ ” Stan mutters into the microphone clumsily, sending Kenny into hysterics. He keeps going in a rhythmless tone until the gentle strum of a guitar joins the track. 

Kenny raises the microphone to his lips and shuts his eyes, singing softly, “ _There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea_ ,” 

“ _You became the light on the dark side of me_.” Stan joins in, sharing in Kenny flare for the dramatic, twisting his body toward the shorter man with both fists wrapped around the mic. 

Opening his eyes, Kenny flicks his head to meet Stan’s gaze, “ _Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill,”_

Stan almost makes forces his friend to break character when he goes for the high notes, “ _But did you know that when it snows_ ,” 

Together they finish the stanza: “ _My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen?_ ”

Kenny mimics the build-up by pounding on the air-drums before they both throw their heads back and belt in unison: “ _Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray! Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah,_ ” 

Stan shifts his microphone to one hand and gestures toward Kenny, “ _And now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the gray,_ ” 

“ _Ba da da, ba ba ba, ba da da da,_ ” Kenny joins in the scatting between verses this time, raising his free hand to meet Stan’s in the air. Their palms press flush together as they continues to serenade one another, only impeded by Stan’s unexpected bout of hiccups for a few lines. 

With the chorus comes around again, Stan laces their fingers together and holds up their arms, “ _Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray!_ ” Stan pauses to laugh at a particularly loud _oooh!_ from Kenny, who smirks and tugs on his hand to pull him closer. They wrap their arms around one another for the remainder of the song, turning to face one another for the final, slowed lines. Stan takes the time to admire how good Kenny looks even piss drunk, with his sunshine curls falling in unruly rays around his forehead and ears. 

When they finish, scattered claps sound from the audience. Kenny breaks into a bright grin, pinching Stan’s cheek before turning toward their fellow patrons and bowing. They wander off the stage together after replacing their microphones on the karaoke machine.

They continue giggling at themselves as Kenny staggers back to the table where he dropped off his drink and grins at the girls. “Y’all are angels, thanks.” 

He lifts the drink with both hands, intent on slinking back to the bar with Stan before one of the women beckons him back, “You guys, that was so adorable!” 

“Yeah, it was so sweet,” her friend agrees with a pouty expression. “I hope I can find someone who loves me as much as you love each other one day.” 

Stan flushes, then starts to correct their misunderstanding, “Oh, we’re not—“ 

“We’re _so_ glad you said that,” Kenny interrupts with a short laugh and a glance back at Stan, “that’s so nice! When ya been together as long as we have, ya gotta keep things interesting.” 

“Aw, how long have you been together?” One of them asks as another few girls gather behind the table. Stan begins to feel a bit overwhelmed, but Kenny handles it with grace. 

He hums as he takes a long sip of his margarita, “‘Bout four years. But, we been close since pre-school.” 

Stan smirks. They had been _living together_ for four years, and admittedly close friends since pre-school. When a ridiculous chorus of _aw’s_ ring from the women, Stan decides to play along. He steps forward and drapes an arm around Kenny’s shoulders. “That’s right, and he still keeps me young.” 

A brunette woman from the new members of the congregation inquires, “Aren’t you guys kinda worried about, like… _homophobes_ messing with you?” 

Stan waves it off, “Nah, we usually get this kind of reception.” 

Kenny barks a laugh and quickly composes himself with another long drink. “Yeah, plus, as long as I’m with him, I feel safe.” 

The ladies all coo again, one placing her hand over her heart. Another one announces, “Let me buy you brave boys a drink!” 

“Oh, no, that’s alright, we really should—“ 

“That sounds _amazing_ , thank ya!” Kenny interrupts again, turning to grab a chair from a vacant table. As he is unable to do so one-handed, Stan comes to his assistance with humor in his eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“You love it.” Kenny assures with a devious grin. 

That is how the two came to spend their night consuming two more drinks each and fooling a group of women into believing they have been gay lovers for years. The strangest part was how easy it was to do so. They know absolutely everything about one another, including their daily routines, annoying habits, pet peeves, favorite foods, first jobs, favorite songs—anything they were asked. They even relayed a few hilarious stories about one another from childhood, which absolutely melted the ladies’ hearts. 

When time stretched into the early hours of the morning and Stan had finished the water and fries he ordered for himself in order to regain some semblance of sobriety, he ordered them an Uber and was forced to practically _drag_ Kenny outside to catch it. The short ride home consisted of the two cracking up about the gullible women’s reactions to all the manufactured details of their faux romantic relationship. 

Once the driver had dropped them off outside their apartment complex, Kenny was able to walk independently again, though still blitzed. Stan repeatedly shushed him on entering their building, reminding him of their irritable neighbor across the hall. 

“You got it, chief,” Kenny promises, making the zip-lip motion as Stan helps him climb the steep, carpeted stairs to their unit. The whole thing took much longer than reasonable, considering Stan was not entirely coherent himself. 

Getting the correct key in the lock proved to be equally problematic. With Kenny’s somewhat helpful coaching, they manage to complete the task, and Kenny lets out a loud, gleeful cheer when they do. 

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” 

Stan cups a hand over Kenny’s mouth and spouts, “Sorry!” before securing the door shut gently. The blond cackles beneath the hold, pressing his back to the closed door. Stan falls against him, joining in laughing.

“You’re so fucking _loud_ , dude,” Stan snorts, moving his hand from Kenny’s face to the door, using the appendege to prop himself up before the smaller man. 

Kenny shrugs, “Well, according to what you told Stacy, you _like_ it when I’m loud.” 

Stan scrunches his nose at the remembrance of a fake, raunchy detail he shared with the women at the bar, “Oh yeah.” 

They laugh together at the thought as Kenny absentmindedly raises his hands to fix Stan’s tousled, black hair. They gradually quiet as they peer into one another’s faces, studying the details behind hooded eyes. Stan's heart races as Kenny’s fingers slowly slip downward to his cheeks. He feels his body reeling closer by some drunken magnetism. 

“Too bad none of it was true, huh?” Kenny says, wide eyes glistening at his. 

Stan is entranced by the way his tongue darts between his lips to moisten them. He can’t believe he never noticed how plump and inviting Kenny’s mouth is—the perfect shade and shape. 

“Yeah, it is too bad.” Stan agrees. He leans in further still until this noses touch. Kenny encourages the gap to close with a hand on the back of his head coaxing him closer. It feels like a breath of fresh air when their lips finally meet. 

Kenny releases a short, involuntary moan at the contact and steadies himself with a hand clasped on Stan’s flannel-clad shoulder. The kiss is hungry and unrehearsed, full of slobber and nose-bump interruptions. Neither mind as they wrap themselves up in one another, Kenny’s back now flat against the door, their legs entwined. Stan’s forearm is pressed flush against the surface beside Kenny’s head, keeping him upright as he glides his lips along Kenny’s, feeling like he is floating. 

The contact is interrupted for nothing but the shedding of Kenny’s jean jacket and Stan’s button-down shirt. Both articles find the floor as the feeling of warm, bare skin escalates the situation further. Kenny gently bites down on Stan’s bottom lip as he curls his fingers around his bicep. Stan hums in pleasure at the feeling, parting his lips to reattach fully to his as he circles his arms around his hips, slipping his hands beneath Kenny’s oversized band shirt that probably originally belonged to Stan (one detail they shared with the women that was completely true was Kenny’s serially shirt-stealing habit). 

Kenny reels backward again, quiet gasps escaping as he waits for Stan to take the cue. When he does, Kenny’s shirt joins the pile of discarded clothes on the ground, and Stan’s is quick to follow. 

Hands roam the lengths of one another’s bodies as they resume making out clumsily. Stan begins to backpedal toward the sofa of their shared living space, tripping over his shirt. Kenny laughs as he grasps at Stan’s arm for support, drawing him in for another chaste kiss before they stumble the rest of the way to their destination. 

Stan slumps against the cushions first, Kenny quick to climb atop him. He hovers over him and crashes their lips together again. Neither are really stopping to think about what the _fuck_ they’re actually doing—both concerned if they do, it will end. 

Kenny cannot help but grin against his lips as he feels hands wander down the sides of his torso, settling on his hips. Their bodies slot together even more perfectly than Kenny always pictured they would. He is also increasingly impressed by Stan’s muscular build left-over from high-school football and the recreational softball league he does with Kyle during the summer. 

His fingers find the waistband of Stan’s khaki joggers and boxers, slipping between the elastic and his warm skin. Stan’s breath hitches at the contact as he brings himself forward for another kiss. When they separate again, Kenny whispers in a lustful tone, “Can I touch you?” 

“Please do,” Stan returns eagerly, taking the opportunity to unbutton Kenny’s pants before they withdraw. 

A seductive smirk spreads Kenny’s lips as he leans up to pull Stan’s bottoms down his thighs. A shiver runs through his body at the exposure of his hard dick, but it is swiftly put out of his mind when Kenny’s hand wraps around him. Intense waves of pleasure rush over him. “Fuck,” he moans. 

The blond interrupts the trail of wet kisses he leaves across Stan’s bare chest to whisper, “Y’know, you’re genuinely a good singer.”

Stan grins, opening his eyes to watch Kenny climb off of him and drop to his knees beside the couch, he asks, “Now is the time you think of us singing?”

Kenny shrugs, smiling back. “I like hearing your voice.” 

With that, he bows his head and takes Stan’s length in his mouth. “Jesus fuck,” he sighs, reeling his head back and enjoying the hot suction against his sensitive skin. Though it’s by far the best blow job he has ever had, he is eager to finish to return the favor. 

As soon as he releases into Kenny’s mouth with heavy exhales, the pair shift around so Stan can sit upright. Kenny remains in a standing position as the other man unzips his jeans, tugging them downward with a bit of resistance. Once around Kenny’s knees, he places a hand on his dick and catches a glimpse of Kenny’s bright, pink boxers. He squints, “Are you wearing _Kirby_ boxers?” 

Kenny hums, “Not if that would discourage you from sucking my dick.” 

“Oh no, it makes me want to even more,” Stan sniggers before returning to the task at hand, first running his tongue along his dick, sending a shiver down Kenny’s spine. He enjoys the fantastic view of the smaller man’s jawline as he bobs his head back and forth. Kenny embeds his fingers in Stan’s thick hair, letting out quiet groans of pleasure. 

When Kenny finishes he collapses to the couch beside Stan, who leans down to cover himself with his pants again. A bout of silence renders him uncomfortable, so he looks to Kenny, who appears to be reeling. He stares forward with unfocused eyes as his chest rises and falls dramatically. Stan thinks he wants to ask him if he is okay, but sleep comes over him before he actually puts the thought to action. 

_ 

Stan can’t take it anymore. 

It’s been a week since karaoke night, and he has still not discussed it with his roommate. When Stan awoke the following day at noon, horrendously hungover, Kenny had already gone off to work. When he came back that night, he behaved as if it were business as usual, and Stan played along despite his downward spiral. 

Everytime Stan tries to have a serious interaction with Kenny, it is cut short with a joke or a trip to the bathroom or some other kind of diversion. He is straight up _avoiding_ the topic, which leaves Stan paralyzed with anxiety. 

He _has_ to talk about it. 

“You wanna do Chinese tonight?” Kenny asks as Stan traces into the kitchen while he scrutinizes the unimpressive contents of their fridge. 

Stan freezes when a pair of honey brown eyes land on his face. He chews at his bottom lip instead of opening his mouth. 

Kenny cocks an eyebrow, “Well, if you gotta better idea, just say so, Stanley.” 

“Why won’t you talk to me about the other night?” 

The blond’s face falls. He plays it off as he pushes the fridge shut and casts his gaze aside, “I never said I wouldn’t.” 

“I’ve tried to talk to you about it and you keep ignoring me!” Stan asserts, stomach suddenly queasy under the pressure of the exchange. 

“There just ain’t much to talk about, dude.” Kenny shrugs.

Pinching his eyebrows together, he scoffs, “Dude, we fucked. How is that not much to talk about?” 

Kenny lets out a nervous laugh and shrugs again. “People fuck every day. It’s not exactly broadcast-worthy.” 

“So that meant nothing to you?” Stan challenges. It works. Kenny clamps his jaw shut and stares ahead. The way his eyes became clouder caused guilt to twist within Stan’s chest. 

“I…” Kenny starts, but interrupts himself with a sardonic chuckle, “you don’t wanna know what it meant to me, Stan. It would be worse for our relationship than not talking about it.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to know that? You’re not even gonna give me a chance?” Stan demands, cutting off Kenny’s retreat by taking up the kitchen’s entryway. 

“No, I’m not.” Kenny returns coldly, attempting to duck beneath Stan’s raised arms. Stan stiffens his arm, impeding his friend’s travel. The shorter boy’s gaze darkens. “Let me go.” 

“No, I need you to talk to me!” Stan exclaims, pressing the side of his body to the wall to stop his friend attempting to squeeze through. With a grunt, he asks, “how fucking old are you?” 

“Says the one who started this.” 

“That’s mature.” 

“Can you just fuckin’ stop?!” Kenny snaps, rearing back to pin Stan with an angry glare. “I’m not having this discussion with you, man! I can’t afford to move out, and more importantly, _lose_ you. It’s not worth it—it never has been.” 

“ _What_ , Kenny?” Stan raises his voice right back. Kenny scoffs indignantly and shakes his head. Stan softens his expression and lowers his arms. “Did you not _like_ it or something?” 

“What?” Kenny huffs, but realization seems to hit him, as he changes his tune. “Uh, yeah… it was… disgusting.” 

Stan is not convinced. He takes a few short strides to be close to the other man. Heart pounding, he forces himself to obtain the miniscule amount of bravery within him to pose the question: “Do you… do you have feelings for me?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Kenny repeats in a broken voice. 

The look on his face and the weakness of his voice breaks Stan’s heart. He raises a hand to cup his freckles cheek gently before asking, “How long?” 

“I said I don’t wanna fucking talk about it, asshole.” Kenny spits, twisting out of Stan’s grasp. 

Stan works quickly to grasp Kenny’s wrist and pull him back. He cups his cheeks again, this time with more force and purpose and both hands. He presses a passionate kiss to his lips, drawing in a long breath as his heart officially punches through his ribcage. Kenny reciprocates with equal fever, arms wrapping around Stan’s middle, eyes squeezed shut. 

The situation rapidly escalates exactly as it had last time, but before any clothes are strewn about the apartment, Stan withdraws to look the other man up and down. He cannot help but smile at the realization that he is kissing Kenny—his roommate, best friend, and favorite person. Not only does it feel really fucking good, it feel _right_. Deep down he thinks he always knew they belong together and he is slightly furious with himself for not doing anything about it sooner. 

“Can we talk about it afterwards this time?” Stan inquires, eyebrow raised. 

Kenny smirks and pulls him back down for a quick kiss before affirming, “Over Chinese?” 

“Sounds perfect.” Stan sighs, reattaching himself to Kenny and kissing him deeply again. 

  
  



End file.
